Desert Warfare
by Dormy
Summary: Morenhei's civilization is at an end. The Mortis ravage the land yet, the hatred between the Manga Qi and Qitan is such that they will not unite. The Qi Sisterhood is all that stands between their people and the spirit of Gomorrah's wrath.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

In the land of eternal dusk, where sun never shines and the moon never rises, shadows roam. Trapped in the half-light and boiling atmosphere, hunched figures skulk amongst the shifting sands and dust devils. Desert cloaks envelope their identities. It doesn't matter. They are defeated images of a civilization crumbling into nothingness, crumbling into the clutches of power, greed, and ruin. They glance at the sky, eyes peeping through goggles, faces masked against the blistering heat and raw sand, and against a dry air that sucks the very water from your lungs. What they see is a endless expanse of red dust. Cyclones, near and far, tower above the wasteland, stirring even greater billowing clouds of death. Eyes search the sky for the tell-tale signs of a descending cloud. If it came, the winds would shriek and sand would turn to daggers, destroying even what was already a ruin. Threatening, the swirling mists thousands of feet above glower but do not descend. The sharp eyes of the sand people, the Manga Qi, scope a more unsettling vision instead. The glint of an unknown object, none could decide whether it be man or beast, twirled in the deadly storms above, tossed on the billows. A flier reaching that altitude seemed improbable, but obviously something or someone had found enough Aiki-chi to survive such heights.

The deep, melancholy hum of the village horn turned the Manga Qi homeward. In the sacred adobe, Mother Jerusha would have answers. Cloaked figures appeared in plenty as the multitude approached a central building embedded deep into the earth's foundations and enveloped high in sand. Shuffling heavily down the flight of stone steps into the building, the flood of bodies dispersed into a large, circular room. A skylight in the high ceiling flooded the room in a deep red glow. As a sign of respect, each individual removed the goggles and mask protecting her delicate face from the wind and sand. Each face a woman's face. Each face deeply bronzed and hardened. Each eye glowing with violet light in the red half-light.

The multitude seated themselves separately or in small groups, each to her own clan, but the expansive room appeared not even half full. Large gaps and empty spaces testified of the impending extinction. The women's soft eyes searched every empty seat, seeing the writing of doom on every solitary soul.

"There has been news of an Unknown aerial above us." The rasping voice of a very old women echoed throughout the cavernous hall. "It has inspired fear in all of you. It is written on your faces and emitted by your hearts." The audience moved uneasily. "We were once a proud people thrilled at the sight of new science, strong Aiki, and new heights. Now, we scurry among the dunes, seeing evil omens in every unknown being and sign. Is this what we have become? Fearful rodents amongst the desert caverns? Quiet your fears Manga Qi. We are the sand people of Gomorrah, adobe dwellers. It is not our way to fear the unknown. Even now, the aerial falls to the earth, deep into the dunes past the West Walls. The aerial is a being unknown to our world. He has come far to seek the Manga Qi and will bring us good tidings." A disturbance in the audience turned all heads in the direction of the counsel seats where a burly woman stood. "Yes, Motto Qi?"

"With all due respect," spat the contemptuous looking woman, rugged in appearance and a permanent grimace chiseled into her features. "You're words of both censure and inspiration fall short of our expectations." Murmuring broke out among the people. "We have neither the time nor the faith to go beyond the West Walls into a murderous desert in search of an Aerial, despite your promise of fortune." Assent whispered from many faces, but disgust and irritation radiated from much more.

A young woman dressed in a blue robe jumped to her feet, but Mother Jerusha raised her wrinkled hand before a word escaped her lips. "Blue Manga Solstice, control yourself." The Blue Manga's glowing eyes sparked with contempt, but she reluctantly returned to her seat. Concern etched the Aiki-chi master's face. "Motto Qi, please do not release despair among your people. I feel deeply for your losses, but we all have reason to mourn. I do not ask those who are without the will to take upon themselves this trek. There are those qualified to seek out this aerial. Even Fate, it seems, has found fit to call upon only one to venture forth." The wizened face scanned the crowd of tired adobe dwellers. Her frazzled eyebrows lowered in amused contemplation; a smile flitted across her wrinkled lips. "But, where is she? Where is Red Manga Morenhei?"

Several miles West of the Manga Qi temple, the Red Manga warrior Morenhei surfed on high winds in her flier. A simple aeronautic invention, the flier acted as a kite in the tumultuous desert cyclones. Attached to her torso and shoulders by iron bands, the wings stretched out about four feet in length on either side. A metal compound, both durable and strong, formed a comb-like frame for the wings. A foot of space remained between each 'tooth', and within this space, a fabric element formed by an energy force field caught the air currents and created lift. On her manmade wings, Morenhei could reach heights of 150 feet, but any higher and the cyclone temperatures would decimate her both body and wing.

The harsh environment demanded that each adobe dweller wear thick wraps from the navel to the top of the head, leaving the face exposed. A simple airy robe covered their shoulders and torso. Some of the Manga Qi preferred full length robes with banded sleeves at the wrists to keep out sand, but these often snagged and inhibited motion. Most of the Manga Qi youth preferred wearing the warrior garb. Their robes had short sleeves, which they tucked into long gloves just above the elbow, and the top ended in vertical, free-flowing strips of fabric at the waist instead of full length gowns. From the navel down, they wore pants spun from the same fibers as the gloves, much like soft leather. The fibers came from a desert dwelling mammal, the Rue rabbit, an animal who's fur was both hardy and light. Most of the sand people wore special shoes made from this animal's pelt as well. The desert sands shifted so easily that any other kind of footwear sunk into the sand in minutes. The warrior garb allowed the youth full body motion, protected them from most of the fierce Gomorrah climate without inducing heat exhaustion, and still allowed them to fight or flee when threatened in any circumstance.

Morenhei was well aware of the Aerial, or Unknown. She had been one of the first to spot it. But, unlike many of the women in her village, curiosity rather than fear took hold in her breast. Naturally an impulsive individual and slow to reflection, she had taken her flier to the West Walls and leapt from those heights to catch the air current. Without looking back, she headed westward. Now, she jumped from cyclone to cyclone, gaining altitude and then escaping from the circulating air until she was swept into the next one. By now, she had lost sight of the unknown. She had watched it glide through the sky thousands of feet above the West Walls and knew that it would soon be thrown out of the heavens into the desert. The Western skies held the greatest scorn of those on two legs. It never ceased to boil with sand and scalding heat. That was why the West Walls were the last walls standing of the now ruined city of the Manga Qi. They had built that wall the highest and the thickest as protection from the western storms. Now, it was also the last barricade against a more imminent ruin.

Nothing stirred in the dusky desert dunes. Even Morenhei's heightened vision did little against the twilight. Rolling hills stretched out before her, shifting in the wind and heat. Ghosts of wind and water played over the sands like gleaming streams of water, but she knew they were only mirages. There was no water in this desolate land. If the mirages became defined, she knew she would need to land immediately and find shelter, but for now, they remained wispy and uncertain.

Twilight soon progressed to a deepening scarlet night. The fires burning deep within the belly of Gomorrah set the landscape aglow and the sand-filled night sky reflected the ominous shade. The temperatures fell to a bearable range, an uncomfortable warmth, which, to the ancient sand people, seemed pleasantly cool this night. Rain in the form of sand swept over the land, falling on the cool currents of air. The wind became so thickened with particles that Morenhei knew it was time to land. Falling from the gentle undulation of a cyclone, she glided gently to the tops of the highest dunes. Hunching vertically while skimming the ground with her agile feet, she avoided catching the wind on her wings and soon came to a halt. The energy force fields retracted into the frame, and the wings folded neatly into a manageable carrying case on her back. Out of breath, swimming in raining sand, and fairly clueless to her location, Morenhei decidedly scoured the dunes for a good campsite. All her glowing eyes could perceive in the scarlet wasteland was dune after sifting dune. Stumbling down the giant dune's bank and nearly washing away in an avalanche of sand, she settled into a nook between dunes. The wind had sculpted a pleasant cove that mostly rebuffed the nightly sandstorms battering the surrounding area. Her meal consisted of jerked Rue meat and seeds, a substantial meal despite its bland flavor. She didn't concern herself with a fire, seeing that she had no reason to cook, no reason to add more heat to the stifling land, and no reason to make herself vulnerable. Why trouble herself when fuel was near non-existence anyway? She was no Aiki-chi master. She couldn't produce fire from thin air or water from sand, not yet.

Grasping her staff in one hand, she slipped into a plain canvas bag large enough to fit a small automobile. Once inside, she raised the staff in the middle to act like a center beam. The tent was somewhat large, secure, and inconspicuous. Finally removing her face mask, its vents and tubes looking grotesque and alien, she sat on the tent floor and stretched to relieve the tension in her shoulders and neck. After stretching and meditating for a time, she began to unwind her shrouds - long strips of raggedy fabric wound about the torso, neck, and head and worn sometimes for days. Pounds of collected sand fell from the crevices and creases while she rolled them into neat bundles. Relieved of the restrictive corset of wraps, she breathed in the stifling air. Stripped down to her robe, she finally laid completely down on the floor, groaning inward as the fatigue overcame her. In the night, near silence encased the land. Only the falling silt and moaning wind broke the spell of quiet. No animal or being ventured out of hiding, or dared to utter a noise. There was no knowing who or what might hear you.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two, Night of the Rising Sun

No sun rises in the Gomorrah desert, only the lifting sandstorms as the escalating temperatures draw them higher and higher into the sky betray the change of night to day. The scarlet glow returns to a world ensnared in a red dawn.

Morenhei rose with the retreating storm. Kneeling atop the highest dune, still bare except for her robe, she watched the billows lift from the land, basking in the momentary sunlight before the cyclones fell on the land. A single glimmer of sun peaked the horizon, sending a flood of pure, white light across the desert, like a flash of lightning. The sky turned blue. The desert softened to a warm tan, and patches of scorched grass blushed a pale green. Small, tender shoots yielded tiny yellow flowers. And, pale gray clouds punctuated the sky, their underbellies glowing pale pink, purple, and orange. The horizon seemed to explode with a warm glow that caressed every leaf, flower, and cloud, tingeing everything with gold. Instead of the blasting sand and searing heat, a gentle warmth washed over her, not Morenhei the Red Manga warrior, but Morenhei, a simple woman of the Manga Qi. For just an instant, the world transformed into its purest form. It became the very essence of life and perfection. Chi, the energy of life, restored every fragment of Gomorrah to its spiritual form, a testimony of what was lost.

That moment would not last. Seeming as though it had not happened, like a lapse in time itself, everything reverted to its corrupted, carnal state. The wind tore at Morenhei's naked skin and the sand blew into her face. Thunder moaned in the upper atmosphere, and the earth regressed into its previous dismal state. Morenhei attempted to save the image of Gomorrah, pure and peaceful, in her memory, and just like all the other times, the serenity of the scene eluded her mind's comprehension. It was impossible for her mind to grasp such perfection. But still, she waited every year for that one moment after the calmest night, like the last, hoping that it would be the Night of the Rising Sun. Only on a serene night when the storms fell gently and the demons grew silent, would the morning bring the renewal. It came very rarely in so turbulent a world as this.

Witnessing the Night of the Rising Sun for the eighteenth time marked Morenhei as blessed, for now, on her return to the village, she could begin her training as an Aiki-chi master. One miracle for every year of her mortality, it was the only means by which her people measured time. There were two seasons, the Westward storms and the Eastward storms, and there were years marked by each passing Night of the Rising Sun. No one understood its significance, that knowledge had been lost long ago, but all the sand people knew in their souls that it prophesied of something to come and reminisced of something long past. It was every living Manga Qi's last glimmer of hope, and when a Manga Qi youth survived the eighteenth year and witnessed their eighteenth renewal, they too became one with the hope of the rising sun.

Now, as the cyclones descended and the heat increased, Morenhei would need to hurry to clothe herself. The years of experience had trained her hands well. They nimbly rewrapped her strong frame and clothed the muscular flesh in time for her to eat breakfast and be on her way. She shunned the mask as long as possible, breathing the desert air in slowly, feeling it absorb the water in her lungs, and pretending to feel the gentle cool breeze of her eighteenth dawn. It wasn't long before she coughed gently and snapped the mask and goggles over her face. The air was still for now, too still for her to take off in her flier from the dunes. She would have to walk until a dust devil assisted her flight.

It's a difficult thing to hike along the ridge of a dune. The wind whips it into a sharp peek and makes the sides steep and troublesome. Without a light foot and experienced eye, the hiker could plan on little progress and an early death. The ridges, though tricky to navigate, were safer than the valleys below. Gomorrah, presently a wasted desert, was once a land of rivers and canyons. Rippling mountains had populated the terrain. Now, all that remained was miles upon miles of sand. But, within each dune, lay the foundation of a mountain, firm and safe. The winds scalped the ridges of sand and piled the valleys deep with it; so, while the ridges remained firm, most of the valleys were traps of quick sand, where an unwary traveler would sink and slowly suffocate.

The escalating temperatures seemed almost unbearable, but Morenhei trekked onward, panting. Water was a scarce pleasure anywhere on Gomorrah. Instead, the people survived on humidified air emitted by their masks. It did not quench the rampant thirst, but it kept them alive.

The Manga Qi had evolved in many ways to survive in such a desolate place. Gomorrah revolved in forty-hour days, only six hours being the scarlet night and the rest spent in differing levels of twilight. The inhabitants frequently worked a thirty-four hour day with few breaks as long as their masks were well supplied. Their bodies alone were the ultimate form of biped adaptation. Built for harsh environments, intense heat and exhaustion, little hydration, and long hours of labor, the average Gomorran looked magnificent. The ears, though often not seen, were larger than the average human's and stuck out from the head farther, more like a primates ear. Their arms were muscular and lean. The legs - limber, long, and strong. The women's shoulders were as broad as their hips, making them well balanced, and slightly larger than the average Earth woman, or equal to the stature of a Earth man. But, there are two characteristics of a desert-dweller that accede the rest. One, being the violet glowing eyes. This only occurs in near darkness and acts like night vision goggles. In the semi-light, their eyes range from black to blue to green, but when darkness arrives, they change to an incandescent violet. Second, they have unnaturally long digits. Their fingers are a knuckle's length longer than the average human being's. In the metric system that's nearly two centimeters more on each digit, including the toes. They still have the same amount of segments in each digit as a human, but each segment is slightly longer.

Morenhei peered into the sky, shading the goggles with her hand. With the sudden rise in temperatures, dust devils would soon spiral upward in the desert land. She wasn't long in looking up into the blaze of clouds above her. A few hundred yards in front of her, the sand began to tumble and dance, working up a cloud at least ten feet high. The longer she watched the more quickly the sand moved, developing a circular pattern. If she didn't reach the dust devil at the right instant, one of two things could happen. The current might be too weak for lift and jam the joints of her flier with sand, which takes several hours to repair. Or, the dust devil reaches a cyclone state and entering it would either bury her in sand or throw her out into the quick sand valleys before she gained control of the flier.

She took a breath and unstuck her tongue from the parched roof of her mouth. Muscles in her stomach knotted in anxiety as she watched the developing cyclone. The dust devil grew to twenty-five feet, a clear pillar in the empty expanse. The knots in her stomach let loose and a twitch in her eye told her 'now or never'. Sprinting with all her strength along the treacherous ridge, the wings unfolded and activated just as she hit the first current of rising air. The thrill of being drawn into the sky, flying like a bird of prey among the storms, surged through her body and soul. Suddenly, she was no longer just a Manga Qi warrior. She felt as though she belonged to the searing wind and deadly sky, as though the sky and earth belonged to her. Reaching 100 feet told her it was time for the next cyclone. She easily maneuvered the flier out of this first tornado and glided along the desert. The red sand that blemished the once beautiful Gomorrah terra firma seemed beautiful to Morenhei today. Today was a good day. She could feel it in her bones. Chi stirred the air, arranging destiny, and she knew it in both her heart and mind. Mountain ranges of dirt reached out as far as the eye could see. Undulating fields of scorched scrub grass speckled the wind-blown plateaus. Destruction, it seems, possesses its own grim beauty.

In the midst of her ecstasy, a glimmer of light drew her eye. Several miles ahead of her, hugging the side of a mammoth plateau, a dull reflection betrayed something extraordinary. Without a doubt in her mind, Morenhei knew it was the thing she had been tracking for the last day and a half. Only one cyclone punctuated the miles between her and her target. That meant the path required a forced hike of several miles. It wouldn't do to approach an Unknown from the air anyway, in spite of Morenhei's aerial expertise.

It wasn't long before she had landed her craft again on the sand. By her practiced eye, the hike would be about five miles. In the labyrinth of ridges and valleys, that meant several hours. Sweat already pooled in the bottom of her goggles and dampened her shrouds. This would not be an easy tramp in the desert. Taking her staff in hand, adjusting the flier case on her back, and slinging her rucksack over her shoulder, the last leg of the search began. Scanning the landscape, she again located the glimmering mass. It would not be much longer that it remained unknown.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3, The Spirit of Gomorrah

On approach of the glimmering hulk, Morenhei recognized it as an aerial craft but one very different from her own world's fliers. The unrelenting wind and sand had already eroded the fine exterior enamel of the metal and infiltrated the interior. Rubble half buried in sand littered the desert for a hundred feet in every direction. The craft appeared to be too complex a machine for Morenhei to comprehend. Shattered rudders, snapped blades, instruments destroyed beyond recognition, severed and sputtering electrical wiring, amputated levers, and cracked gears - all equipment a simple Manga Qi could not identify - diffused from a central hulk of a crushed, mutilated frame. But, everything was quickly being claimed by the greedy desert.

In all the debris, Morenhei was familiar with only one gruesome sight. Death. It did not take long for her to feel the emptiness surrounding a lost being. Those well acquainted with the flow of Aiki-chi were also familiar with disturbances in that flow. Cautious and apprehensive in her search, the signs of death lead her to three broken bodies. They looked much like herself - bipeds, two arms and two legs, symmetrical faces but with smaller ears, even their flesh appeared the same. One, a man she believed, bled from his mouth and ears, his right side apparently crushed. Another she recognized to be a woman, though much smaller than herself. Her eyes, a pale blue, stared blankly upward, a little sunken in the heat. Her stiff hands clutched a necklace at her throat. The last was a large man. Grease smeared his hands and face, and a hint of a smile played on his lips. Both his legs were shattered.

Morenhei ached for these lost souls, beings so near to her own declining race. Pain and sorrow swelled in her heart, and emotions she had kept at bay for many years revived themselves. Scenes of death and emotions of sorrow scarred her life; yet, every new confrontation still flooded her with a degenerative emptiness. She could not help feeling that these beings, so near her race, could possibly have helped save them, but Gomorrah's spite had not been turned away even for them.

Following the tradition of her people, she removed her red warrior's robe and gloves, exposing her shoulder and forearms to blistering heat, even though she stood in the faint shadow of the plateau, and laid it beside her. From around her neck, she removed a small wooden bottle wrapped in scrub grass and Rue leather. A feather tied to the neck fluttered in the wind. Leaning carefully over each body, she poured a small portion of water into their blue parted lips. Afterward, she covered the blank faces with her robe and silently prayed to her Kami, the spirit of Gomorrah.

There is no explanation for what happened next. Obviously, it was supposed to happen because Morenhei seemed neither surprised or disturbed. The three burst into scarlet flames. Whether by magic or spontaneous combustion, a religious ceremony or scientific phenomena, it did happen. The bodies incinerated in the scarlet flames and turned to fine ashes in an hour. Morenhei vigilantly abided near by, and then the ashes scatted to the four winds. Subdued, the warrior reverently piled sand over the burning bed where black scorch marks scarred the sand.

An eerie sensation of loss pervaded the location. Once regloved, Morenhei wandered the sight listlessly, waiting for she knew not what. The day grew long and impatient, threatening to barrage the earth with tempests. When they came, all the rubbish now on the ground would melt and mix with the elements of Gomorrah. This planet, angry with the beauty sapped from its foundation, snatched up every lost soul, every unwary traveler, and every wounded being or thing like a famished serpent. Like the deceased beings embalmed in scarlet flame, Gomorrah left no neglected possession undisturbed. In the end, all belonged to the land.

Distinguished mirages rippled over the horizon, appearing as rippling waterfalls tumbling from the dunes. Morenhei knew that this storm would blast the desert mercilessly, avenging itself on the inhabitants, as though the Night of the Rising Sun was a painful reminder of what the Manga Qi, Qi-Tan, and Mortis had taken from her.

The cliffs above would provide the best protection. She spotted a cave carved into the face that would be a suitable shelter. The climb was not difficult, and the cave seemed well protected. Stray winds carved it out of the rock face many years ago. Sand trickled into the room from the high ceiling.

Something tugged at the edge of her consciousness. It was not alarm but a focused energy seemed to pervade the room. After examining the sandy floor, she recognized the tracks of a biped. They were not clawed like the tracks of a Mortis, or light impression left by the Manga Qi. The tracks sunk deep into the sand, nearly to the stone foundation, and left a sink hole instead of a defined pattern. This meant that it was someone very heavy, or someone carrying something very heavy. Other markings indicated something being dragged across the floor. Near the entry, scrapes on the hard rock suggested some sort of struggle. Since her instincts told her she had nothing to fear, she studied these things merely out of curiosity than concern. Undoubtedly, one of the beings from the aerial crash had survived and came here for shelter, and he or she brought with them an object of much importance if they had tried to save it from the clutches of Gomorrah.

Morenhei scooped a small hand full of sand and spoke to it gently, convincing the sand to burn furiously. It was a simple form of Aiki-chi, the art of manipulating the chi of living things and elements and persuading the spirit of Gomorrah for help. This fire Aiki-chi technique had taken Morenhei several years to perfect, and it was only a basic maneuver. Aiki-chi masters, like Mother Jerusha, could manipulate sand storms into torrents of fire or turn a scrub grass plain into a jungle without uttering a word if only the spirit of Gomorrah allowed it. Gomorrah, in her anger and rage, rarely left things of beauty and serenity in peace. She used Fire Aiki-chi masters as tools of havoc, but those practicing Transfiguration or Earth Aiki-chi rarely progressed. Water Aiki-chi had dissipated into the past long ago when the lakes, seas, and rivers evaporated into nothingness.

The small pile of sand radiated a red glow into the dark cave. The cave was actually much larger than Morenhei had expected. A passage in the back wall appeared to lead into another room. The soft crunching of dirt beneath her boots echoed softly throughout the cavern.

On the floor, propped haphazardly on frayed cushions and clothes, laid an unconscious man. Beside herself with concern, Morenhei dropped the glowing mound, which soon cooled on the cave floor. Removing her goggles, two violet eyes pierced the darkness. She knelt at the side of the wounded being and felt the faint pulse under his feverish jaw and pain-contorted face. His breath came in quick shallow gasps, and his hands clutched the bedding in agony. Droplets of blood collected on his puffy, parched lips. His eyes clenched shut in anguish, and his head flinched at her touch. Morenhei still wore her mask to protect against the dry air. In shelter, it sapped the strength of the sick and weak, but in the open desert, it would steal the breath from your lungs, seizing the water of your body. This man before her was slowly dying of suffocation, not wounds or sickness.

The wind outside intensified. She could hear Gomorrah shrieking among the dunes and rocks, perilously angry. But in the back of the cave, hardly a breath of air stirred. Not needing her mask, she set it aside and contemplated what she could do for this man. Deep in her heart, a resentment stirred against Gomorrah. The angry Kami's punishment on the Manga Qi and Qi-Tan was nearly complete. The sand people, her children, deserved her hatred, but these strangers who did not know the land or its troubles did not deserve this animosity. Already, she claimed the souls of the woman and two men. Morenhei felt that another soul warranted more than Gomorrah was entitled.

She retrieved a leather water bag from her rucksack and tore a strip of cloth from the man's bedding. Conserving as much water as possible, she dampened the cloth and used it to dab the sweat and blood from the man's face. He jerked his head sharply with every touch. From what the Manga Qi medicine maker had taught Morenhei, bad air still remained in the man's lungs. His shallow breathing could not removing it from deep within his chest, and it had settled there, feeding on his ebbing strength.

She dabbed the chapped, bleeding lips gently, cleaning the sand and grime away. Since the mask contained a humidifier, it would yield the purest air. Without strapping it around her face, she breathed out all the air in her lungs and held it to her mouth. Inhaling slowly, absorbing as much humidity as she could, she filled her lungs to bursting. Then, she gently pinched the man's nose and breathed into his mouth. The touch of his lips against hers felt rough and hard. Her hand on his bandaged chest rose gently in the air, and when more than half the air in her lungs was gone she sat up and allowed the man to cough and breath out the bad air. She repeated this several times, always careful to monitor how much air she gave him and how he breathed afterward. The rise and fall of his chest slowed and deepened, the wrinkles around his closed eyes softened, and his hands relaxed against the bedding. Continuing to wash away the blood, sand, and sweat on his face, neck, and chest, Morenhei listened to the despairing wails of Gomorrah while she flung herself against the desert dunes and plateaus.

The man slept taciturnly in his rag bed, the humidifying mask laid gently over his mouth and nose. Morenhei felt in her own body a fatigue and drowsiness she had not often experienced. The morning's ecstasy, hike, and light climb had required more strength than expected. Suddenly, the soft sand floor beckoned to her. Unable to resist, Morenhei laid her exhausted body down in the sand next to the maimed man. Darkness filled her mind even before sleep conquered her body.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4, First Sight

Silence accosted Morenhei's senses. Smothered in complete darkness, she felt nothing, heard nothing, and saw nothing. It was as though she did not actually exist. No nerve impulses testified to her brain of self. She had no identity. No substance. No form. She seemed to be just an intelligence, a compilation of thoughts, floating through nonexistence.

Suddenly, streaks of light drifted across the darkness, gathering at a distant point. More and more lights tore across the darkness, like tears in black canvas, until more light shown across the empty expanse than darkness. The collusion point grew with increasing rapidity. Contrary to Morenhei's expectations, the impulse to flee never developed as the large orb of light drew nearer. It was as though Morenhei had no conscious consideration for self-preservation. The orb soon absorbed her whole entity, filling her mind with pure white light. All around her, worlds materialized. Galaxies, great and small, spiraled past her in careening madness. She seemed to be flying through space and time. Maybe she was part of the light? A star in a great expanse of darkness tearing through a black canvas to her own rendezvous point? Other lights crisscrossed her path, both in front and behind. Some collided, exploding into sparks of magnificent hue. Others continued on, collecting at some greater point where their existence would extend on and on through the infinite realms of time.

Morenhei could see a confluence of light ahead and knew intuitively that it was her own realm. The sensation of stopping never occurred since she had never felt the sensation of moving. All the collections of eternity had moved past her without measure of quantity or pace. Now, she stood placidly in existence. Monstrous mountains towered to her right, roving forests swayed on her left, and a majestic waterfall thundered into a tumultuous river before her. Clouds of mist swirled all about.

She felt as though she belonged to this majesty. She belonged to it and it belonged to her. The mist did not flow around her but flowed through her. The weaving forest was her hands. The steadfast mountains were her legs. The river and waterfall pounding upon the earth were her very blood and heart pounding upon her flesh. Her soul flowed through the river and into the soil, into the trees that fed the air, and into the mountains created by the earth. She could feel with her soul the serenity of the mountains and know the wisdom of the woods. In her heart, she knew the energy of the river and power of the falls. From the earth, she learned to nurture and understand. But, her form was without substance. She, a tangent in creation, but not a creation herself. Without a form, touch eluded her. The wind ruffled the trees in silence, and the falls fell without din. The warm, earthen smell of wet soil and the renewing taste of cool, pure river water remained a mystery to her limited consciousness. Her intelligence desired something more. Creation taught her of dependency, a never-ending cycle that had no beginning or end. Dependency - being needed. A purpose. Significance. A reason for being. What was her reason of being, this inanimate awareness of life?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5, Strangers Like Me

Awake and hidden, Morenhei peered into the darkness as a creature tramped into the cave. It stumbled in the deep sand and nearly fell to the ground but recovered in a labored struggle. The sound of its panting breaths reached up to Morenhei's crevice easily. She had heard both the hampered footfalls and heaving breathing before it had crossed into the back cave. She knew now that he was not a Mortis, but suspicion detained her from climbing down from a crevice high in the wall.

She watched with partial amusement as the being cut strips of ragged cloth and wove them into a type of ball. The ball was set in a bowl and a strong smelling liquid, an oil Morenhei supposed, was poured over top of it. Then, fire materialized in the darkness from a stick in his hand and it jumped to the bowl of oil and cloth. The room was immediate illuminated in the warm glow of firelight.

The creature now completely visible, Morenhei identified him to the other male beings and the bedridden creature. Still, she remained concealed. Observation, she felt, was imperative at the moment.

The being moved slowly, as though in pain, and walked with an apparent limp. After lighting the lamp, he slowly peeled layers of tattered clothes from his body, down to his very underwear. He shook these tattered clothes and shoved them into a large rucksack. Morenhei marked the strange pattern of the clothes, as though they were splattered with various shades of green and black. The beings flesh was badly burned and cuts crisscrossed his forearms. He was very large, even compared to the Manga Qi. His height exceeded six feet and his shoulders and back rippled with muscle. But, his movements expressed very little grace. They were reckless and harsh movements, tending to be brutish and force every object around him to do his bidding rather than act in partnership with them. Morenhei tried very hard to study his face, but as of yet, he had not looked in her direction for more than a few moments. He glanced at his sleeping fellow several times and muttered some inaudible words but had not settled for rest or meditation. He stumbled about the room, pacing the sandy floor and stumbling about, exhausting his already limited strength. He would not continue standing for long. At least, Morenhei hoped he would not because the smoke ascending from the lamp irritated her.

Finally, he settled down beside his companion, staring at his sleeping face, who was bear since Morenhei had removed her mask from him. The sleeping man moved uneasily and Morenhei knew her mask would need to be given back to him soon. The conscious man contemplated his companions face, his brows furrowed into a deep crease. Burns splotched the delicate skin of his face. Dark eyes smoldered under his thick eyebrows, and dark hair clung to his forehead. The haggard features of his face relaxed as his tired head nodded forward. The thoughtful, intelligent eyes fluttered and gently closed and his cracked, bleeding lips parted in restful bliss. Morenhei could not justify the satisfaction she felt in seeing this being sink into a deep, restful sleep, but, she felt in her soul that this man had faced many nights of hardship, many days for painful exertions, both physically and spiritually, and that this was the first time in a long while that he had received relief. Morenhei would not be the one to disturb him from his bliss.

She carefully repelled from her hiding place and stealthily strode among the things of the cave. The lamp still burned brightly, spewing clouds of smoke into the air. The large man had brought little with him. When he had entered the cave, the only load he carried was a large rucksack of cloth fashioned to be held by hand or on one shoulder. From inside it, Morenhei removed the torn clothing with the strange pattern, a few more articles she assumed were to be worn, several small metal bowls, two metallic weapons unlike she had ever seen, cracked bottles leaking strong smelling, clear liquid, a large pair of footwear, and many items Morenhei did not recognize. The bag also contained a few crinkled papers, some singed by heat.

One particularly interested her. It appeared to be a very detailed drawing of a group of biped beings. They stood with their arms around each other, embracing and smile, some laughing. It took a moment for Morenhei to recognize the three dead beings from the wreckage. The large man with the broken legs stood at the end, poking his finger into the woman's ear, a mischievous grin on his face. She wore an expression of both disgust and amusement. The other man stood at the opposite end, laughing shyly, his eyes locked on something unknown to the side.

The two other people Morenhei assumed to be the sick man and this new stranger. The sick man apparently was the smaller of the two. He stood beside the woman, smiling crookedly, but his hand covered much of his face as he pushed spectacles back onto his nose. Locks of hair stood up haphazardly on the crown of his head. Beside him, stood his companion. He seemed more reserved than his fellows. The eyes peered up from the paper with surprising intensity. Morenhei found it difficult to look away. His hand rested on the boy's shoulder and a secret smile crept in the corner of his mouth. They stood in the foreground of a large lot of land. A tree caught and held Morenhei's attention. She studied it's trunk and branches spreading over the happy crew. Sunlight glowed through the tender leaves. Morenhei could not even imagine being in the presence of such a patient, nurturing creature as this.

The sleeping stranger moved uneasily, and Morenhei's heart leapt into her throat. Carefully, she returned his possessions back to the rucksack and returned it to its previous location. Then, she returned to her patient breathing heavily on the bed of rags. The mask returned to his face, his breathing deepened, and he soon sunk deep into a rehabilitating rest.


End file.
